


electric blue

by illinois_e



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, and tao/kris, kinda slow burn, mentioned minseok/jongdae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-16 08:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13632918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illinois_e/pseuds/illinois_e
Summary: Minseok sent his younger brother to China to forge an alliance between the empires.Falling in love with the emperor while at it was a bonus. Falling in love with his concubine, however, was a disaster waiting to happen—or so it seemed at first.





	electric blue

**Author's Note:**

> **Ticket No. 555**  
>  **Warnings:** none  
>  **Pairing:** lay/kai/sehun  
>  **Side Pairing(s):** kris/tao, xiumin/chen  
>  **Time Period:** Imperial China (Song Dinasty)  
>  **Author's Note:** i loved this prompt so much that i couldnt refrain myself from trying to make my best with it. the result obviously isnt what i expected at the beggining, but the deadline is biting me in the ass and alas, i hope you like it as it is! also, i wanted to thank the mods for making this fest and being super helpful with all the crazy ass authors like me. you were great  <3
> 
> before you read it, thought, i used some chinese honorifics (that i found on wikipedia so they may not be right) on this fic and would like to explain them before-hand:
> 
> wansuiye: an informal way of addressing the emperor.  
> tianzi: another title of the emperor. means "the son of heaven".  
> qiansui: used to address empresses, dowagers, crown princes and other high-ranking imperials.
> 
> (if you see any historical/cultural/other inaccuracies on this fic, feel free to tell me so i can fix things!)

There was gold on the walls, on the paintings, on the tapestries, on the table. In every direction Jongin turned his head, his eyes were assaulted with more and more of the same color, adorning every corner of the dining hall in which himself and more than a hundred people were feasting on.

Even Jongin’s blue silken robes had gold linings on them. Gold, just like the color of his new husband’s crown.

His mother's words could never make justice to the reality of his wedding, nor could the countless books he read in hope to prepare himself for his new life. Everything was lavish in the biggest empire on Earth, and the marriage of its emperor had to be more than just lavish. It had to be better than everything before it.

Jongin sat beside his husband, Emperor Yixing of the Song dynasty, surrounded by the chinese high society, all of them smiling and cooing at him like he was some plaything Goryeo send them, naive and pure, unknowing of what waited for him in the courts.

But he would show them he was not some plaything. Jongin didn’t travel all the way there only to spread his legs for the chinese emperor. He came to watch and learn; and, as the Liao continued to press south against his realm, terrorizing small cities on the northern border and vanishing before Goryeo’s troops arrived, Jongin came to warn his father about the Song’s steps beforehand, and if needed, sway him to the right path.

If they wanted to think of him as a simple-minded doll, then let them think. He would prove them wrong in no time.

“Is the food to your liking, Jongin?” Yixing asked him, lowering his — golden — cup of wine to the table. His eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth and something more than the alcohol he had already ingested. “I had the cooks study your land's culinary, you know.”

He didn't, and that knowledge made the corners of his mouth lift up a little—not so much as to seem he was drunk or overly happy. Which he wasn't, truly. Jongin was just thinking the whole marriage was going better than he imagined it. “It's marvelous. And although it wasn't needed, I feel very happy that you put thought into making sure I’ll be comfortable in my new home, Wansuiye.”

“Oh, please.” The emperor plet out a small chuckle, downing another sip of wine. “We're married. The time for pleasantries is over; you may call me Yixing, although it would be wise not to say it in front of others. Just when we’re alone. ”

“Yixing.” He whispered, feeling the letters with his tongue. It was a name he would be saying a lot in the future months, and he felt strangely happy about that. “Thank you.”

“It's my pleasure.” Yixing smiled warmly to him before turning his attention to one of the nobles sitting close to him—a man unbelievably tall, with two horizontal scars marking his eyebrow. That, Jongin learned in the nights spent studying, was the Song's greatest general, a man who now went by the name Wu Yifan.

Jongin divided himself into eating what Yixing had prepared for him and engaging in small talk with the guests. It seemed that everyone had a question for him, be it about Goryeo, his marriage, or his expectatives about being the emperor consort of the chinese empire. He smiled and talked greatly of all three, even if the last two ones were a big mystery to him still. At least Yixing seemed like a good man, but Jongin didn't want to make his mind about him yet. They were married for less than five hours.

Eventually the feast dwindled down. Jongin could see some people already drunk, dozing off on the table and, some unfortunate souls, on their own dishes. The music was quieter and the guests more focused in laughing than talking. From what he observed, there were only a few people still sober; namely him, Yixing, his general and, a table under them, a man dressed in red robes and dark pants underneath, in whose shoulders a smaller man rested his head. His hair hold Jongin eyes for more time than he would like to admit. Every strand was colored a blond so light it was almost white. Some of them fell in front of the man's eyes, covering them from Jongin’s vision.

He wanted to look at it closer. He wanted to thread his fingers in those locks and—

“Jongin,” Yixing whispered in his ear, interrupting his daydreaming. He turned his eyes back to his husband. “I think it's time we both retire.”

“Oh.” Jongin knew what _retiring_ meant. He tried to hold off the scared expression that wanted to make itself visible in his face. “Well then, shall we?”

He chuckled. His mother said that laughter made people seem not so frightened, and Jongin believed that was true. It _had_ to be.

Yixing got up first, extending his arm so that he and Jongin could walk away together. Jongin could not help but blush at the small action, unused to such open displays of romance. This was different from all the guys he kissed in the corners of the palace, before. Now he was married, and there was nothing to hide from anyone.

Truly nothing, as the shouts he heard as they passed the hall’s door left no room to doubt that everyone knew what the two of them would do after leaving.

“Don’t worry about that,” Yixing said, trying to calm him. “They’re drunk.”

 _Yes, they’re drunk,_ Jongin thought. _But not mistaken._

He let his eyes wander in the architecture before his eyes while Yixing led him to his bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. Jongin extended his arm to touch the inked faces of courageous soldiers in the paintings, or to trace the frown etched on the sculptures of all the previous emperors. There was a pedestal with Yixing’s name written on it, gold letters in a gold plaque, but no statue above it. Not yet.

They turned left and then right before the sound of footsteps behind them made itself clear. Jongin wanted to turn back and ask the person what were they doing, but Yixing, likely thinking that it was just a servant running errands for someone, kept walking as if he hadn't heard anything.

“Yixing, wait!” Jongin heard the shout before the figure came into his eyes. Surprisingly to him, it was the man that captured his attention at the banquet, the one with icy blond hair. Now that they were facing each other, Jongin could take in many more details of him—from the sharpness of his jaw to the cute swell of his bottom lip.

And more importantly, how could he call the emperor by his birth name?

He held Yixing, who had stopped walking as soon as he heard the voice, with two hands on his arm, and smiled apologetically at Jongin before bowing. “Qiansui, would you mind if I borrow your husband? It won't take a minute.”

“Oh,” Jongin looked at the man and back at Yixing, who didn't seem unfazed in the slightest. On the contrary, the corners of his lips were raised up in an almost smile. “Of course. I think. Wansuiye?”

“It's fine.” Yixing squeezed his hand before smiling and walking away.

They did not take twenty steps before stopping. Yixing leaned in the nearest pillar while the man stayed in front of him, effectively blocking Jongin’s line of vision. They talked in quiet whispers intercalated with small laughter, and Jongin couldn't not distinguish any of the words.

He felt alone, right there, even if his husband was no more than ten feet apart from him. He felt alone, looking at the paintings and the wall decorations and waiting, like a kid lost in a big room, alone alone alone.

(it didn’t mattered that he wasn’t truly alone, and it didn’t mattered that he knew he was being stupid. it was just how he felt—no sense in trying to change that)

There was a big painting just to his left, and he pretended to be absorbed in it as Yixing made his way back to him. He turned as his husband’s hand held his arm again, and by the corner of his eyes he could see that the blond man had already left them. Good. Jongin couldn’t say why, but he felt suddenly aware of the fact that he and Yixing were about to have sex, and that man surely knew about it. The thought left his cheeks pink.

“Is everything okay? We’re here.” They stopped at a big mahogany door, carved with intricate patterns Jongin would very much like to study—later. The hand at his arm moved up, cradling his cheek as if he was fragile. Breakable. “You know, Jongin, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable. It’s not like anyone will doubt what I say to them—I don’t believe they’ll ask anything, in fact. They’ll just assume it happened.”

“It’s just— Oh, I want it.” Jongin shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling more like a child then a (married) man. _It’s just sex_ , he reminded himself. It was just sex, and Yixing seemed good. Jongin didn’t doubt that Yixing would never hurt him on purpose. “I can’t lie and say that I’m not slightly scared, but I still want it.”

Yixing smiled; a big, open smile, with dimples forming on both his cheeks. Jongin let himself breathe more easily.

The room was, as all the castle, painted with more gold Jongin would like to think about. Yixing navigated them through the sitting room, walking by piles of books arranged neatly on a low table, alongside with a tea tray. To the left, another panting. To the right, old scrolls pinned to the wall, with writings that Jongin, who liked to think he spoke chinese well enough to live in China, couldn’t decipher.

Jongin sat himself on the bed, feeling the soft white silk pool beneath his hand as he smoothed it over. He waited for the moment when the mattress dips beside him, Yixing sitting close enough to touch, but not close enough to make him feel crowded. Jongin appreciated the gesture, and threaded their fingers together as his own kind of thanking him.

“So…” he began, licking his lips and holding his gaze steady into his husband’s eyes. Yixing was good for him, and he would be good for Yixing—he would not falter, not at this. “Should I lay down? Or you want me to… To get on top of you? I could sit on your lap and—”

“It will be better if you lay down,” Yixing said, holding Jongin’s shoulders with his hands and slowly pushing him until his back was against the sheets, brown hair spilled on the pillow, framing his head. “But, just so you know: the more you think about how _should_ it be, the worst it _will_ be. There’s no need to fret—I will take care of you, if you let me.”

“Okay.” Jongin breathed deeply, letting his eyes drop almost closed as he felt more than saw Yixing shuffling closer, getting partially on top of him. First, the fingers carefully traced the arch of his brown and the bump on his nose, descending until Jongin felt the pads of his husband’s fingers against his parted lips. Then, his chin was being tilted up, and this time he felt Yixing’s lips — smaller and thinner, with his bottom lip jutting out just enough so that Jongin wanted to touch it — against his own.

The kiss was different—but that, Jongin concluded, was in part because all of his other kisses had been with his friends, and they were all about the same age. Yixing was older, more mature. He was a _emperor_ , and a grown man, who surely wouldn’t kiss like some overly excited boy. Much on the contrary, Yixing kissed him slow and deeply, like they had all the time in the world; which they did. Jongin dared to let his tongue slip between their mouths, eliciting a sigh from his husband, who, seeing Jongin focused on their kiss, let his hand drift between their bodies before finding the knot that secured Jongin’s robes together and unfastened it.

He broke the kiss and let their foreheads touch each other. “If you want to stop, just say it, right? I won’t be mad or something, I promise.”

“I’m good.” Jongin pressed their lips together again to prove his point. “I’m great.”

Yixing smiled at him, but instead of kissing him again, as Jongin was expecting, his head dipped lower, lips tracing the sharp curve of Jongin’s jaw, and then lower still, until they were on his neck. He marked the skin with love bites, here and there, delighting in the way Jongin shuddered under him, letting out small purrs every time Yixing’s tongue licked the places his teeth previously were.

Lower and lower he kept going, moving Jongin’s clothes out of the way until he was half-naked in the bed, his whole torso exposed, breathing heavily as Yixing gave his hard nipple one last lick. He looped his fingers by the band of Jongin’s underpants, but instead of taking them down quickly, he looked into Jongin’s eyes, almost as if he was asking for some kind of permission to go forward. Jongin nodded.

Yixing slowly lowered his pants leaving Jongin fully naked while he hadn’t taken a single piece of clothing off.

He let his hands roam over smooth skin, feeling the muscles of Jongin’s calf beneath his fingers, the hard curve of his knee and the firm flesh of his thigh, touching it up until where it met Jongin’s torso. Jongin shuddered, and Yixing chuckled at that. He moved his hand to where Jongin’s cock was laying hot against his belly, and thumbed the crown.

“Oh, fuck!” He opened his legs some more, giving Yixing more space to work. “It is… It feels different. And better. But different. But _better._ ”

“Better than what?” Yixing asked, his hand closed in a loose fist around Jongin’s cock, leisurely jerking him off. He didn't want his pretty prince to come right away.

“Than— Oh! Than when I do it myself.”

Yixing chuckled—it seemed that Jongin had a talent in eliciting that reaction from him. “You, my prince, are definitely cute.”

Cute. That wasn't what Jongin was expecting, not in the slightest, but if every time Yixing called him cute he would also, like then, take Jongin’s cock in his mouth, there was nothing to complain about.

Jongin knew well the feeling of a handjob, even if always by himself. A blowjob, however, was something he had only ever dreamed of receiving—and not even in these fantasies he would have dared to conjure the image of his member disappearing, inch by inch, into the emperor of China's mouth. Not even then he would have thought about Yixing with his cheeks hollowed while his tongue lay flat against the underside of Jongin’s cock, grazing against the vein there every time he bobbed his head up and down.

Not even in his _wildest_ dreams.

Yixing’s hands holding his hips down prevented Jongin from moving, and the only thing he could was moan loudly as the fire burning low in his belly grew higher and hotter, warming him from inside out. His hands fisted the sheets and his thighs — his whole body — trembled when Yixing looked at him and the eyes and just _hummed_ , vibrating against Jongin’s aching cock.

He felt his orgasm getting closer, his body taut and ready to go loose. “Oh god— Yixing. Yixing, I’m coming. I’m—” Jongin let out a long moan when Yixing only took him deeper, letting the tip of Jongin’s cock touch the back of his throat.

Jongin closed his eyes and threw his head further against the pillow. Incoherent sentences left his mouth, along with some groans and Yixing’s name as he felt his cock pulsing, shooting come inside his husband’s mouth. It was a hundred times better than any other orgasm he ever had—like they were all some sort of rehearsals and this, now, was the real thing, the showtime, with white dancing under his eyelids and white noise flooding his ears and all the world just white, white, white.

His heart fluttered like a bird as he tried to catch his breath, head lost in the dizziness that followed his release. He felt sticky and warm and spent and _sated_ , like he had never felt before. And when Jongin partially opened his eyes again, he could feel the weight of Yixing’s gaze on him, dark and lustful but yet patient, and could see the bulge that showed clearly under his loose robes. There was still one drop of come smearing the corner of his mouth, and Jongin felt the underwhelming desire to lick it clean.

So he did that.

Yixing captured his lips in a kiss in the middle of the scene, and Jongin couldn’t do anything much but let himself melt, leaning his body against Yixing’s chest.

“That was nice,” he said. His fingers skipped their way over his husband’s torso, undoing every knot and fold they found. Soon, his hand was splayed against Yixing’s naked chest, feeling the muscles moving with every breath. “I guess I was really scared for nothing, wasn’t I?”

“Well, you could say that.” Yixing’s head rested against Jongin’s, his nose taking in the smell of freshly washed hair. “Although I hope you are not thinking that our night has finished yet.”

He took Jongin’s hand in his and placed them both above his clothed member. Jongin smiled, albeit shy, and slipped his hand under the robes, feeling Yixing tremble in his grasp. And maybe he didn’t knew very well what he was supposed to do, but if he would always feel like this, like something beautiful and powerful, capable of ripping out a long groan from Yixing’s mouth with just a few flicks of his wrist, then he would give his best.

“You will have to guide me,” he said, lips pressed against Yixing’s neck. He heard the other grunt before holding him by the shoulders, putting distance between them and causing Jongin to let go of him.

Yixing was flustered from the chest up to his cheeks. _I did that_ , Jongin thought, somewhat proud of himself. _I did that._

“Lie down for me. And open your legs, just like before.” Yixing left the bed. By the corner of his eyes, Jongin could see as he hurried to find something in his drawers. He lay down, opened his legs and let his fingers trace his thighs, close to where his member was hardening once again.

When Yixing came back, he had a small vial in his hand, half full with a translucent liquid. He uncorked it and let the oil-like substance drip on his fingers. “I know it’s going to sound stupid, but I need you to relax, okay? It won’t feel good if you don’t.”

“I’m relaxed,” Jongin said, taking a deep breath. He was relaxed; he was just a little apprehensive. One of his hands circled his cock, playing with the crown so lightly it was more of a caress than anything else. He needed something to distracted him if it hurt.

(but he didn’t believe yixing would hurt him, not truly)

Yixing grabbed a pillow and adjusted it under Jongin’s back, giving him better access. Jongin took a deep breath and decided against closing his eyes. Soon enough, there was a featherlight touch to his rim, and his thighs unconsciously tensed, drawing themselves closer.

“Jongin.” Yixing said his name in a soft, warm tone—not the talking with a child tone, but the _talking with someone you love_ tone. “It felt good, before, when I sucked you off, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” More than good.

“So, I need you to believe me that it’s also going to feel good this time.” His hands ran up and down on the skin of Jongin’s legs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I would not do something to you that wouldn’t bring you pleasure. Trust me.”

“I’m sorry.” Jongin opened his legs again. This time he didn’t feel so exposed.

Yixing brought his face close to Jongin’s knee and kissed it. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

This time, he leaned over Jongin’s body and kissed him, sliding their tongues together while one of his lubed fingers stroked his entrance, applying a bit of pressure before going in.

“I want you to tell me if it’s too much.” He gently inserted more of his finger inside, past the first knuckle and all the way up to the second, keeping an eye on Jongin’s expression. “I won’t, like, get mad or something—”

“I’m fine,” Jongin said. After all, it was only a finger. It felt strange inside him, like something that shouldn’t be there, but it _was_ , and it didn’t hurt him. “I can take it. _Trust me_.”

Yixing kissed him again, and removed his finger from Jongin until only the tip stayed, before thrusting it all inside. Jongin moaned into the kiss, holding into Yixing’s shoulders while feeling the finger that grazed against his walls soon be joined by another.

It felt nice. More than nice, in fact, it felt really good. But it was only after Yixing found his prostate and brushed both of his fingers against it that it felt truly amazing.

“Oh, fuck. Just— Just do it again, please.” There were three fingers scissoring him open, and suddenly there was nothing. He whined, and looked down to see that Yixing had sat upright between his legs, and quickly removed what else was left of his ceremonial robes so that he could apply the oil to his cock.

Jongin tried to take his eyes away from it, but he couldn't help himself. Not when a moan passed through Yixing’s lips as he stroked himself, the pink head disappearing into his fist every time. Jongin wanted to lick and taste it, in the same manner Yixing had done with him, but not now. He would have a lot of time to learn how to make Yixing feel good.

Yixing manhandled his legs, pushing them close to Jongin’s chest. “Hold them here. Yes, perfect. Now, remember to relax and to tell me if I hurt you.”

“Okay,” Jongin said, looking at Yixing’s eyes as he leaned over his body again. He focused on maintaining his breath even, on keeping his body lax and his mind at ease. This time he didn’t close his legs when he felt something nudging his entrance, nor when he felt it break past his body’s resistance and slide in.

Yixing went slow, _too_ slow, trying not to hurt him. Jongin could see as he screwed his eyes shut, nose scrunched, holding himself back for as much as he could until he finally bottomed out. And even with all that care, Jongin felt pain—it wasn’t enough to ask Yixing to stop, but just as the fingers, it felt… Different. Strange.

“Are you okay?” Yixing asked, brushing the sweaty locks out of Jongin’s forehead.

Jongin nodded. The pain diminished as he remembered to stay relaxed, and soon enough it was something he could push to the back of his mind. “Yeah. You can, you know. Move.”

He wrapped his legs around Yixing’s waist as he started to pick up a pace. He felt Yixing’s lips moving against the skin of his neck, spilling grunt after grunt while his thrusts became faster and harder with each plea that came out of Jongin’s mouth.

“Yes, fuck. Just— Oh, fuck! Right there, just— there!” Jongin tried to create full sentences, but every time Yixing brushed that same spot he had found with his fingers earlier, stars danced beneath his eyelids, and all the left his mouth were loose words and strangled noises.

Having Yixing on top of him like that, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other with every thrust, his cock stuck between them, rubbing against the ridges of Yixing’s well-defined abdomen—it was too much and too soon. Jongin’s whole body grew taut as he moaned through his release, cock spurting semen and dirtying both their bellies. Yixing didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary. He was out of Jongin in a flash, finishing himself off with his hand. Jongin could only watch with half-lidded eyes as his husband came, leaving another streak of white over his skin.

Jongin was still trying to catch his breath when he felt something snuggle against him. Something big and warm and sticky—just like a husband. “I’m gonna get something to clean us off. Hang in there.”

The only answer Yixing received was a soft mumble. When he came back, after filling a water basin and finding a soft piece of thread to watch them both, Jongin had already turned to the other side, and little snores left his lips.

“You are really cute, aren’t you, my prince?” He took care to not wake Jongin up, cleaning him first, with soft and fleeting touches. He cleaned himself after, and put the basin away before falling under the blankets. Jongin turned to his side.

“Yixing?”

“Oh… I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was.” He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, and Yixing could swear he had fallen asleep again if it was not for a small whisper. “I liked it. A lot.”

“Good.” He fiddled with the bangs covering Jongin’s eyes before sweeping them off his forehead. “Because it’s something I plan to do a lot from now on, but only if you want it too.”

“I do. Sleep, and then. And then again.”

“Yes, sleep.” Yixing pressed a sweet kiss on his forehead before closing his eyes too. He hadn’t noticed how sleepy he had become. “Tomorrow, you’ll have all China to rule.”

“Sounds fun.” And just like that, he was out again. Yixing brought him closer and, with his arms full of a sleeping, korean prince, he followed Jongin to the dreamland.

 

* * *

 

Jongin woke up the next day with the sound of Yixing dressing himself in simple robes—or at least what would be considered simple for a emperor. His dark blue robes almost touched the ground, and he let the hair for last, tying it up in a tight bun before putting his headdress on.

He also woke up with a mean pain on his backside.

“Oh, you're up.” Yixing walked over to him, bending as much as he could with the weight on his head to give him a quick kiss. “Sorry, I tried to make as little noise as I could.”

“It's okay.” It wasn't as if Jongin could spent the whole day sleeping, anyway. He could not let court think of him as some lazy and recluded emperor-consort.

“I will send someone to bring breakfast to you when I pass by the kitchens. Any preferences?”

“Uh, no. I don't eat much in the mornings.”

“I will ask for something simple, then.” He fished Jongin’s hand from where it was hidden underneath the sheets, and gave each of his fingers a small peck. “I wish I could stay with you longer, but that will have to wait. China won't rule itself, you know. At least not yet.”

Jongin let out a small laugh at that. “I'll be fine. Stop worrying about me and go rule your empire.”

Yixing left the room humming what sounded like a happy song, and Jongin couldn't help but feel happy too. He stretched his body like a cat, delighted in the way the silk felt underneath his body—his very sore body. His legs and arms hurt, and sharpness made itself clear every time he tried to move his back. He got up slowly, and let the bathtub in Yixing’s — in their — suite fill with hot water.

They would expect him to be lazy—to act like some pampered baby Goryeo sent them, who would be the emperor’s little beautiful thing, kept behind a glass window, safe and untouchable. If Jongin wanted to change their minds, he needed to begin working as soon as possible, and that meant overcoming his post-nuptial shyness and getting out of the protection of their room.

After at least an hour, it was just what he did. He remembered the way he and Yixing had walked the night before, when they had come from the dining hall. If Jongin could go there, surely he could find someone to help him navigate the castle and, with luck, meet Yixing’s advisors and other important people with who he didn't have time to talk about in his marriage banquet.

Jongin wasn't stupid. He knew he would need a network of his own if he was to survive in a unfamiliar court, and much more if he was to thrive on it.

It seemed, however, that he would have to start low. As soon as he opened the door, there was someone already waiting for him.

“Good morning, qiansui. My name is Zhou Mi, and I am one of the palace guards.” The man bowed to him so profusely Jongin feared for his spine. “By the orders of Tianzi, I am to be your personal guardian from this day on.”

“Oh, good morning, Zhou Mi. Although I might say I wasn't aware of this arrangement.”

Zhou Mi bowed only his head this time, almost as if he was ashamed. “I'm sorry, qiansui. I was also informed this morning, when Tianzi passed by me on the hallway. But if by any way you do not wish for my presence I'm sure that someone else—”

“No!” Jongin exclaimed. His wish was to pat Zhou Mi on the arm and tell him that he did nothing wrong, but that wouldn't be considered proper for someone who married the day before. “It's fine. You're fine. I was just surprised, but I should have expected the emperor wouldn't let me roam around the palace alone, right?”

“No, he wouldn't.”

“Well, if that's so, would you mind showing me around?”

Zhou Mi smiled. It came easy to his lips, giving his face a whole trustworthy light. It was clearly one of the reasons Yixing had chosen him. “It would be my pleasure.”

The palace, Jongin learned, was _huge_. The emperor's chambers were in the imperial wing, on the west side of the castle, so that the emperor would not by roused by the light of the morning sun. There was also the servant’s wing, the warrior’s wing, the diplomat’s wing, and a principal wing, where the throne room was, and where the important negotiations took place. Apart from that, Zhou Mi showed him the training grounds and the baths—and there were still the outside pools and the gardens, which were on the far back of the castle.

When Jongin finally managed to sit down, he was sweating. Zhou Mi, on the contrary, didn't seem affected.

“Is anything well, qiansui? Do you want me to escort you back to your rooms?”

“No, I'm fine. If you could just fetch me a glass of water, it would help.”

“Of course.” Zhou Mi left, and Jongin was alone by the side of one of the indoor pools. He sat on the floor and raised the skirt of his robe, moving his legs through transparent water. There was no one close enough to see him, and most of the servants couldn't even recognize him yet.

It was like being stranded on an island, all alone, a fish out of the water. Someday he would have to grow used to these walls and ceilings, or at least he hoped he would—maybe he could even love it, someday. But for that to happen, he would had to stop seeing himself as the emperor's son and start to act like the emperor's husband.

Easier said than done. He had Goryeo to protect, his brothers not to disappoint, and his husband to please. At least, by the looks of the previous night, Yixing seemed prone to make things easier for him. Or so he hoped.

Jongin heard heavy footsteps approaching. _Zhou Mi’s back_ , he thought, and didn't even turn back before he raised his hand, waiting for the water.

“Your water, qiansui.” The voice he heard, however, had a much softer pitch than Zhou Mi’s, and didn’t contain half his guard’s enthusiasm. Jongin turned his head and found himself looking at a small man, with the face of a young boy.

“And you are?” He took the glass and raised it to his lips. The man wasn't a servant, that much was clear—no servant dressed like that, with a silk green robe that reached the floor. Maybe he was one of the nobles. Jongin vaguely remembered someone with a face like that at his wedding.

“Pardon me. I'm Luhan, your husband's advisor.”

“Oh, you're Luhan? Yixing told me about you.” Jongin quickly got up, standing almost two heads taller than Luhan. “I must say, I expected someone…”

“Older?” Luhan laughed at his expression. “Uglier too, I daresay. But there's no need to worry, my prince. The emperor wouldn't let no unworthy man stand by his side.”

Jongin could only nod. Luhan was right—he expected someone older and maybe uglier, but overall, someone that looked wiser than the man before him, with his teenager features and his bright, unaffected smile. It seemed that Yixing was really different than any other emperor Jongin had met, and he made sure that his inner circle was just as exquisite as him.

Jongin shifted his attention back to Zhou Mi, signaling him to keep his distance from them with a turn of his shin. When the guard as far enough, he started moving—with the knowledge only a prince has that whoever he was talking to would quickly fall into step behind him. Luhan was no exception.

“You know, Luhan, I am aware that I came here only yesterday, and that none of you are expecting me to do more than just sit beside Yixing and wave at the people, but my plans don't involve being some kind of doll husband who only smiles and nods. And I wanted to make sure you knew that. You, and the other advisors too—if there are any.”

“Of course, my prince.” Luhan didn't seem at all surprised. Maybe the rumors that Jongin actually helped his brother Junmyeon with his finances when he became Goryeo’s emperor reached chinese ears. “Is there anything in particular you wish to know more about? There are a lot of documents in my office, regarding the years since the emperor stepped up to the throne, if you wish to see them.”

“Lead the way, advisor.”

Luhan’s office was considerably far from where they were, but Jongin followed him without losing his step or asking for rest. Zhou Mi trailed behind them both, keeping his discretion while Luhan informed him of whatever news had happened since the last week, including the majority of pleas that were asked of Yixing, and what the military complained most—the persistent lack of soldiers through the years. Jongin took the liberty of taking a few papers for himself, even before Luhan gave him permission.

A prince doesn’t ask, and nor does an emperor. With time, Jongin hoped, he wouldn’t hesitate before simply doing things as he thought better.

“I will look at these tonight. I also expect to talk about you regarding the alliance with Goryeo, but I think it’s best if we include the emperor in this conversation too.”

Luhan nodded, moving behind his table. There was a half-done letter on top of it; Jongin hoped it would not be addressed to his brother. “Very well, I’m sure he would want to hear the opinions of someone from Goryeo on this matter. I will mark that on both our schedules.”

Jongin wanted to sit down a little bit, but it would appear they were friends, talking freely, and they were not friends, because Jongin was the emperor-consort, and Luhan was only an advisor. If he sat, he would appear shorter than Luhan, and his father taught him well: a emperor must always be taller than his whole empire.

It was tiring, being a emperor, and he had been doing that for less than a day. Now, he could finally begin to understand why Junmyeon changed so much after their father passed away.

Ruling is like locking your own self in a cage without the keys.

(also, the pain he felt while walking only doubled whenever he tried to sit down)

“I’m sure you’re busy, and I will leave you alone now, but before that—” Jongin swallowed down, unsure if he should continue or not. Luhan would probably think him childish, but between asking him or Yixing, Jongin preferred the former. “I would like you to answer me something. Do you remember well what happened in my wedding?”

“Oh.” He let out a small chuckle, fixing his gaze in a point above Jongin’s head. “I can’t say that I hadn’t a little too much to drink, but I believe I remember the majority of it.”

“Well, then, do you remember the man that was sitting next to you? The tall one, with light hair.” Almost-white hair, lightening-colored hair. _Ice blond._

Recognizement flashed through Luhan’s eyes in the same instant. “I believe it’s Sehun the one you’re asking for, my prince. He is one of the emperor’s concubines.” He lowered his eyes to Jongin’s face, but now his smile wasn’t as friendly as before. “Is there anything in particular you wish to know about him?”

“I… No, there isn’t. I was just curious about him.” He realized too late that he shouldn’t say _curious_. A emperor is never curious; it’s his right to know as much as he wanted to. _I suck at being an emperor_ , Jongin thought. “I’ll be leaving you to your service now, Luhan.”

“My office is always open for when you want to talk, qiansui. I hope you feel welcome in our empire.”

“Oh, I do,” Jongin said, turning back to the front door. It wasn’t a lie, this time. “I truly do.”

“And I know you’re only curious, but if you want to talk to Sehun, he spends most of his time in the gardens, or by the big pool behind the castle. You can ask Zhou Mi to take you there.”

He turned only his head back as he opened the door. “I do not believe that will be necessary.” Smiling again, he found Zhou Mi waiting for him at the hallway, playing with a ladybug at his finger. If Luhan said something else, Jongin did not hear him.

There, another lie. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad an emperor as he had thought.

 

* * *

 

Jongin’s father once told Junmyeon that an emperor who lies is an emperor who is loved, but only an emperor who speaks the truth is an emperor who is truly admired. If that was so, Jongin was sure he would be very loved.

Not one day after telling Luhan he was _only curious_ , Jongin found himself walking through the neatly trimmed grass of the palace’s garden, threading lightly so as not to step in any flowers—the pinkish-white buds of a miseonnamu, which he recognized from his mother’s gardens. He wanted to believe that Yixing ordered them planted here, but it was too soon to fawn over silly conjectures and daydreams. Jongin didn’t go to the garden for the flowers.

He followed the cobbled path, walking past tall trees, ivy-covered walls and, now and then, some couple laughing and kissing by one of the benches. He continued forward, once and again stopping in his tracks to watch a pair of small birds fly around the flowers, or to admire the lotus that just bloomed, until he was almost at the furthermost section of the gardens, where he could not hear the laughter of the lovers or the children from before.

In the other day, when he told Luhan he was curious, he didn’t want to reveal just _how_ curious he was.

It was obvious that Yixing would have a concubine. It was normal for a emperor to have a whole harem to himself, and Jongin, as the emperor-consort, was the leader of them. Even still, the thought of Yixing, sweet Yixing who he had become to think as _his_ Yixing, sleeping with other people left a strange taste on his tongue.

Above all that, he couldn’t forget how the man — Sehun — had followed them on his wedding night, how he pulled Yixing away and whispered something in his ear, making him laugh. How he called him by his birth name, something which not even the emperor’s mother was allowed to do.

A simple concubine.

Sehun wasn’t hard to find. No one had enough patience to venture that far away from the main entrance of the gardens, and more than that, the brightness of his hair acted like a lighthouse in a storm, making him stand out amidst the red and blue hues of the flowers. Jongin thought about calling him out, but he decided against it, and instead he walked quietly by the grass until he was standing by the edge of a pond, right beside Sehun.

When Sehun raised his head, Jongin was kind of expecting to be met with blue eyes, or even green ones — he didn’t have a chance to observe Sehun the night they first saw each other, not did he have any reason —, but what he saw was brown eyes, the color of dark chocolate, like his own. It seemed Sehun’s magic began and ended with his hair. Or so Jongin hoped.

“Qiansui. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Sehun bended his neck, albeit slightly, but did not rise up to properly bow to his emperor. “Although, I must say I didn’t expect you to venture so far away from the castle’s imperial wing, not this soon since you’ve come here, at least.”

Jongin sat down beside him. It was clear, since the wedding, that Sehun only did the minimum necessary to be considered well-mannered. Jongin didn’t mind, as long as no one knew he let himself be spoken to in that way.

(even his noble friends back at goryeo bowed to him. who was sehun to think he could act otherwise? ah, yes. nothing more than his husband’s _concubine_ )

“Yes. I was, well… Exploring, you could say.” Jongin looked at his reflection in the pond, where little fish swam over his image. He was undeniably beautiful, with his full lips and a chiseled jaw, his round eyes now clear of sleep, his hair and clothes properly arranged to made him shine the brightest among everyone, even the emperor himself. He was beautiful, yes, but at his side, surrounded by blooming flowers, with his pale skin and small, pink lips, Sehun didn’t look beautiful—not only beautiful. He looked otherworldly.

And Jongin didn’t know what to do with otherworldly.

“Not much to see here, if I can say so myself,” Sehun said, clicking his tongue at the end of the phrase. Jongin could not remember the last time that someone, excluding his closest friends, had given him an unrequested opinion. “But my guess would be that you weren’t exactly _exploring_ as much as _searching_ , isn’t it?”

If Baekhyun and Chanyeol were here, the two of them would  befriend Sehun in less than a minute. But they aren’t—in this country, there’s only Jongin to deal with affairs of state and witty concubines alike.

“You seem to know exactly what I’m searching for, don’t you? Or _who_ I’m searching for.”

Sehun chuckled and twisted the stem of a flower between his fingers. “I didn’t know— I just strongly believed. And it would be strange for you not to look for me, considering what I did when we met.”

Jongin nodded, still looking at the pond. He didn’t feel ready for talking with Sehun eye to eye, which was ridiculous. He was the emperor-consort. If anything, it was Sehun who should be apprehensive of him.

“Well, then. Do you also know about what I wanted to talked about with you?”

“Pardon me, qiansui. I'm intuitive, but I'm no seer. Not that I know of. What do you wish to talk about?”

Jongin licked his lips. He felt stupid, and also amazed by how Sehun could make him feel like that with a single sentence.

“Actually… There's nothing.” He sighed and looked up, to the gray sky and the clouds heavy with rain. “I think I just wanted to know you better.”

Sehun smiled—a small, true smile. Almost as if he was fond of Jongin already. “Let me see. My full name is Oh Sehun. I’m 21 years old, and I’m also from Goryeo, but I’ve been living in China for almost 10 years, I believe.” Jongin wanted to ask why did he went away from Goryeo, but he didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. “And I’m the emperor’s first concubine, but that you already know.”

They fell into silence. Jongin wanted to hear more, but he would not — could not — ask for it. He also didn’t see point in talking about himself. Sehun, for certain, had already heard all the gossip about him that preceded his wedding with Yixing.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a nice, _good_ kind of silence. Jongin hadn’t had a time to rest since much before the wedding—there was the making negotiations, and the arranging the travel, and finally traveling. One day he was bathing at the river with his friends, and in the other he was being informed of his marriage, like it was the most mundane thing in the world.

(and it was, in a sense. he was the youngest son, and he always knew, somehow, that one day his father or his brother would ship him off to some land far away from home)

He could have easily stood there for a long time, maybe sleep with his head on the grass and the wind slightly tousling his hair, if it wasn't for the rain that decided to fall.

“Shit!” Jongin got up quickly, trying not to trip on his own clothes as they got soaking wet. It wasn’t just a light drizzle—it was a summer storm, falling heavy on their heads. And the entrance of the garden was too distant for them to get there running. He looked at Sehun so that they could go back together, and found his head raised up, eyes closed and smiling. “What are you doing?”

The blond opened his eyes as if Jongin had raised him from a deep slumber and, looking at him, sighed. “You’re going already?”

“I— Well, can’t you see that is raining?”

“It is, isn’t it?” Jongin looked at him like he suddenly turned stupid, and Sehun sighed again, getting up. He ran a hand through his hair, getting the fringe off his forehead, and wet like that it appeared to be more gray than almost-white. Jongin found it mesmerizing all the same. “Do you know the way to the entrance?”

Jongin shook his head in a negative. He took a lot of turns and twists searching for Sehun, and he didn’t have the slightest idea about where he was.

“Take my hand, then.” Sehun raised his hand to him, and Jongin didn’t think twice before taking it. He could feel the raised tissue of a few scars littering his fingers. Not the hands he would expect of a concubine. “I think we can run until near the gate, is that okay? I would go walking, but you seem in a hurry.”

“Let’s run,” Jongin said, taking a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

Sehun nodded.

True to his word, they had to turn to walking when their legs started to burn with the strain, but the gate was already close, and it wasn’t long before they crossed it and found safety under the hallway’s roof. They were both panting hard, but Jongin was smiling, and Sehun— well, he was almost there. There was a glazed look in his eyes, as if he was thinking about something far away from where he was, but it disappeared quickly, and he went back to sporting the mysterious almost-smile Jongin saw at the gardens.

“I believe you will want to go the baths now, qiansui. I’ll leave you to it.” He started to turn back, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Look, you can call me Jongin. At least when we’re alone, you know? And I will call you Sehun. Is that alright?”

“It is. Jongin.” Sehun came closer, and before Jongin could take a step back, there were two hands fixing the tiara that almost fell from his head in their run, and then moving down, tracing his cheeks. He could feel his face growing redder, but Sehun didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t need to get all the way to the gardens if you wish to find me. My room is the last one in your hallway; the red door with the dancers painted on it.”

“Oh,” Jongin expertly let out. Sehun’s hands fell down to his sides again, but he didn’t seem ashamed of what he had done. “I thought that wing has only for the imperial family. I didn’t think concubines could live on it.”

“They can’t,” Sehun said, and walked away.

 

* * *

  
**[interlude]**

one,

(“lock the door,” sehun said, before yixing could lay down beside him. his hair was still wet from the rain that had fallen down that afternoon. now, at night, there was only the sound of a light drizzle tapping against his window.

yixing did as he was told, but now there was a frown on his previously smooth face. “we never lock the door.”

he was right; they didn’t. but that was before, when there were only two of them.

“i met him. in the gardens, when it started raining.” he didn’t have to say _who_ he’d met. his eyes let that clear. “did you know he was searching for me? i thought he would scream at me and tell me to get away from his husband or something, but he didn’t.”

yixing sat down on the bed, one of his hands splayed over sehun’s thigh, too high to be innocent.

“i told you he was kind, didn’t i?”

“well, forgive me for not believing in you, _wansuiye_.” he let out a small hiss when yixing squeezed the toned flesh. “i just wanted to make my own judgement.”

yixing hummed above him, laying down his body so that he was hovering on top of sehun, with their chests almost touching. sehun could feel the hard press of a cock against his thigh—yixing must have been already hard when he came. the thought didn’t help him breath any easier.

“and did you?” he asked, mouth pressed against sehun’s pulse, feeling as the hairs stood up with every word of his.

“yeah.” sehun opened his legs wider to let yixing accommodate better between them. their cocks rubbed against each other with every lazy movement of yixing’s hips, and he couldn’t hold back the sighs that escaped him. “he is nice… i felt like— like he’s torn between trying to hate me because i’m your concubine and trying to like me because he thinks you like me. as if your judgement is something to guide him. and, _oh_ , i think he’s pending more to liking me than the contrary. it’s not hard to see why you like him so much.”

yixing swiftly undid the knots tying sehun’s robe in place, letting it fall open at his sides, but not taking it off completely—he liked to see the contrast between the red fabric and sehun’s pale skin as he fucked him open. it was beautiful, like the time he made sehun wear the empress crown, the jewels clinking against each other as yixing kneeled between sehun’s legs and licked him.

“in some ways, he’s very alike you, but i didn’t think you noticed it. or maybe you didn’t let yourself notice it. i think that’s also a reason why i like him.”

“oh, come on, our similarities end in being tall and korean.”

a high-pitched laughter escaped from yixing’s lips and he let his body fall over sehun’s naked chest. “well, it seems i like my man tall and korean. but—” without warning, yixing held sehun by the waist and turned them over, leaving the younger sitting on top of him. “i like them more when they’re riding me.”

and if, when sehun was spent by yixing’s side, his chest sticky with his own release, he wondered how it would be like to have jongin sitting beside them, his sleepy eyes focused on the scene while his hand moved leisurely between his legs; and if, when yixing entered him for the second time in that night, his way made easy by the come still inside sehun, he imagined if jongin cock would be just as long inside him, just as thick, just as good—that was something no one needed to know.

not yet)

 

* * *

It didn’t take long for Jongin’s life come back to normal, even if normal was definitely not the same as _before_. Normal meant normal for the emperor-consort of China, which wasn’t by any means, the ordinary level of normal. Still, Jongin was getting the hang of it faster than anyone thought.

He liked to stand beside Yixing as he heard the petitioners of the day, trying to pick up the patterns of his decisions. His newest discovery had been that Yixing liked sheep _a lot._ He literally loved them, and could not help but sniffle every time a farmer informed he lost part of his flock because of the rain and the occasional flood, and asked the emperor some gold before his family starved. He also noticed that there were days where Yixing would grant the pleas of anyone who came before him, and there were days where he didn’t even bother to hear the whole story before sending them off, but mostly, he remained stable, listening and thinking well before making a decision.

In that aspect, he reminded Jongin of Minseok; his brother that should be doing the same boring things in that moment, if the long letter full of complaints Jongin received last moon was anything to go by. At least, he hoped, Minseok would be sharing the weight of his empire with Jongdae, his consort, and not trying to take care of millions of people all by himself.

Also, by last and most important, Jongin had found himself a new set of friends in China. He still sent letters to Kyungsoo frequently, but it was nice having someone else to talk face-to-face apart from his husband. And Jongin had a lot of people—Zhou Mi, who still followed him everywhere, even if he knew his way around the castle now; Luhan, who helped him understand the finances and logistic aspects of the empire; Qian, the head of one of the most prestigious families in China, and who could never refuse Jongin a cup of tea and secret lessons on martial arts; and Zitao, who insisted to be called Tao-ge and that, fortunately or not, was Yixing’s younger brother.

(and who, fortunately or not, jongin found amusing and insufferable at the same levels)

“—and then he said he would take me to the market between this moon and the next one, but I’m not sure if I wanna go there? I mean, I like it here. It is big, and foreign, so that it doesn’t look like I’m hiding at home. And the palace is _safe_.” Jongin stop rambling and waited for a comprehensive nod, some kind of friendship right there, but Zitao wasn’t even looking at him. “Hey, why aren’t you listening to me? I didn’t agree to be your friend just so that you could treat me like—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Zitao hissed, and Jongin was about to smack him or do something really aggressive, like pinching his nose, before he spoke again. “And before you make the kicked puppy face, just look at the left, _slowly_ and _discreetly_.”

Jongin did that, more slow than discreet. His eyes scanned the place next to them before settling down on two figures talking by a fountain not far from the one they were sitting. From that, it was easy to place the right names for the faces.

Sehun and Yifan were standing very close — too close — to each other, talking and laughing and touching, and by Jongin’s side, Zitao was trying really hard not to scream or fall back in the fountain and drown in his anger; which, for someone who couldn’t contain hide an emotion for his life, was quite a hard feat.

“I’m gonna stop this.” Zitao was on his feet faster than Jongin thought possible, and it was awkward because Jongin’s arm was wrapped around his waist, preventing him to walk there and make a fool of himself, but it didn’t look like he was going to budge. “Let go of me right now!”

“No way! What do you think you’re gonna do there? Just sit down!” Jongin hissed at Zitao, pushing him back to the stone benches. He could be older and taller, as he liked to say, but Jongin was the stronger one.

Zitao resisted but sat down eventually, his face twisted like that of a very, _very_ dangerous animal, like a rabbit or maybe a cat. “Well I certainly ain’t going to let them— ugh! Just _ugh_.”

 _Yeah, ugh_ , Jongin wanted to say, but that would be enabling Zitao, so he kept his mouth shut.

Partially hidden by the marble as they were, Jongin couldn't see much of Yifan besides beyond his back. Sehun, however, was fully inside his field of vision, and Jongin could clearly see how radiant his smile became when Yifan put both hands at his waist, how his eyes crinkled and he let his head fall back as he laughed when Yifan whispered something to him. Jongin thought he could see Yifan’s lips touching the curve of his ear, but he was too far away to possibly have seen something like that.

He felt something heavy lodge itself on his chest, and he didn't knew why. Jongin wasn't even friends with Sehun—they talked, of course, but always with Yixing in the middle of them, as a mediator of sorts, and they talked about the things that should be talked. He was also used to see Sehun walking shoulder to shoulder with his husband, sometimes with their hands laced and faces too close to each other, and he had never felt jealous of them. Not to say he didn't felt anything, because he did, and he didn't know what to do with that, but it wasn't _jealousy_.

Now, though, it was jealousy, and it wasn't over Yixing. It was over _Sehun_.

Jongin licked his lips and, looking at Zitao still fuming by his side, tried something to take his mind off those confusing — and recurring — thoughts. “I never thought you liked him _that_ way, you know. It didn't really seem serious.”

“Are you kidding? I was thought it was obvious,” Zitao said, shaking his head. It was like all the anger evaporated and left sadness in its place; sadness and resignation. “Truly, it's not that deep, but… I like him. A lot. And Sehun knows that.”

“Oh. I'm sorry, Zitao.”

“You don't need to be sorry, silly. If someone does, it's Sehun, but it isn't like I'm not used to see him flirting with half the palace.” He looked down at his hands and sighed, looking much more like the Zitao Jongin knew. “There's only one stupid person in this mess and it's myself.”

“Maybe you should speak with him? You love talking, it can't be a _that_ hard to say ‘Hi, Yifan. I like you a lot. Is there any chance that you like me a lot too?’”

That earned him a light slap on the back of his head, but he supposed it was well-deserved.

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you go tell Sehun your face is getting green with how much you’re jealous?”

Jongin looked at Zitao as if he had grown another head. "What?"

"Oh, don’t make this face at me, please. You're watching them like someone who's having his heart ripped out. Well, that is, unless you're watching Yifan, and I'll have to kill you if you're watching Yifan."

"I'm not," Jongin said. He suddenly felt very stupid, partially because Zitao was right. "I'm not watching anyone. I'm _leaving_ , and you should too, before they find you like this."

Jongin stood up and walked away before changing his mind. Behind him, Zitao shouted _Wait!_ before running after Jongin without any semblance of discretion. _Great_ _way to blow our_ _cover_ , Jongin thought. That was just what he needed Sehun thinking about him—that he wasted his afternoon spying into people's lives, gossiping about _who did what_ and _who did who_ when he should be busying himself with state affairs.

“You aren’t supposed to be mad with me! It’s not like what I said is a lie.” Zitao quickly closed the distance between them, resting his arm on Jongin’s shoulders. “You should see how you look at him.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not!” Zitao said. His face was livid, like he couldn’t understand how Jongin managed to turn a blind eye to this apparently obvious fact. “You look at him like he’s something… mystical. A spirit—a good one. Beautiful.”

Jongin sighed. Nothing that he said would change Zitao’s mind at this point, so he might as well use that in his favor. “It’s not like I can be jealous of him if I barely know him. We’re not friends or… anything else. We just talk, sometimes, and most of it is about your brother. Sehun always seems to change the subject whenever it comes close to his personal life.”

“Have you ever thought that _maybe_ his personal life is not something he wants to talk about? You never know, maybe he had a bad childhood.”

“He’s Yixing favorite concubine. The only one higher than him on the harem is me, so no, I don’t think his personal life was that bad. He is probably, like, the third son of some noble family from Goryeo… Maybe from the northern border. So his father decided to send him here, hoping that China would help his land if there was a invasion or something.” Jongin pursed his lips, trying to find a flaw on his story. There was none. “That’s my theory about him”

He expected a nod in agreement, maybe even a surprised expression on Zitao’s face. Instead, he got a scoff and a pat on his back. “You know, you may future as a story-teller. Yixing surely would agree if he heard that.”

Jongin frowned at him. “You know that I only talk to you because I don’t want your brother thinking I’m ill-mannered, right?”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Zitao gave him another pat in the back. Jongin was too close to shaking him off his shoulders, but Zitao thankfully took up the clue before something more drastic had to happen. Jongin wouldn’t want Yixing thinking his husband and brother didn’t go along with each other. “Anyway, I have this compromise to attend, and I’m already late, so, you know, just ask him if that’s the case.”

“You have a compromise? But you don’t do anything _at all_. At least, not anything important.”

“Well Jongin you might not believe me but I do have to meet the Liao ambassador and, in my brothers words, make sure he doesn’t declare war right on the stop. See you soon!”

“See you…” Jongin waved at him, but Zitao was already too far to hear.

Maybe he was right—maybe Jongin could just ask Sehun if he was so curious about how come someone from Goryeo ended up being the most prized concubine in all China. After all, Sehun was only that — a concubine — while Jongin was the emperor-consort. He was bound to answer Jongin’s questions, whether he liked it or not.

The only problem with that was that just thinking about forcing Sehun to tell him something made Jongin sick to his stomach. There was no point in making Sehun talk if he didn’t want to—if he didn’t trust Jongin enough to do it. Worse than that, if he truly did use his superior position to pressure Sehun into doing something he didn’t want to, he wasn’t sure that their fragile almost-friendship could support that.

Jongin sighed. Part of him wanted to go back to the fountains, see if Sehun and Yifan were still there, see if they were close together, touching each other. The other part of him couldn’t bear making the images in his head without feeling sick.

 _I’m just mad at him_ , Jongin tried to convince himself. _I’m mad at him because he knows Zitao likes Yifan and that didn’t stop him from flirting with him. And I’m mad at him because he’s Yixing’s concubine, and he can’t wander around kissing everyone in the palace. I’m just mad at him._

Jongin walked in the direction of the main wing, where he could find his husband and try to learn something useful while there. Useful, unlike Sehun’s past—something that he wanted to know out of pure curiosity, something that shouldn’t stay dancing in circles inside his head all the time.

He just needed to talk with Yixing and everything would be fine, he was sure of that. He just needed a little pull back to where he was before all this started—even if he didn’t know what _this_ is, and much less when it started, not when he felt himself attracted to Sehun since the first he saw the back of his head, and when he felt himself  to Yixing as soon as he let his husband touch him.

He needed to talk with Yixing, and then after that, he needed a good night of sleep. When Jongin woke up, without doubt, everything would be just _fine_.

(and zitao might’ve been far away from him in that moment, but jongin could hear his words running in circles around his head, twisted and tortuous

 _you keep telling yourself that_ )

 

* * *

 

First — before someone shall say that emperor Jongin was but a foolish teenager, a _child_ , jumping headfirst in shallow waters before testing then; before that — Jongin tried to forget it.

And be damned what Zitao said. He wasn't in a much better situation that Jongin. In fact, Jongin thought the second prince's situation to be way worse, being in love with Yifan for years as he was.

But then, Zitao wasn't married, was he?

No, he wasn't. Jongin was, and he was pretty much in love with his husband, and pretty much starting to fall in love — starting? — with someone else and the thought was new and unexpected. Baekhyun would call it wondrous. Chanyeol would probably say it was amazing. But Kyungsoo, the voice of the reason, Jongin was sure, would agree with him. Kyungsoo would say it was _scary_.

With that in mind, Jongin tried to forget it. He tried to blame his heart for being too young and too big and too hopeful, tried to shut it up by making excuses whenever Sehun would invite him to go somewhere, be it the market or the kitchens or the garden. He would run, because that was the most sensate thing to do, wasn't it? Run and hide, like a tiny, scared animal. Which he was.

For a few days, it worked. Sehun and Jongin seemed to drift to different sides of the palace, to opposite rooms and hallways, as if fate’s wisdom kept them apart from each other. It worked, if not for the fact that no matter how far away they were, Jongin’s mind kept going back to all the afternoons spent shoulder to shoulder with Sehun, hearing his soft voice as he learned how to sing, lulling him to sleep.

It would have been a success, but it wasn’t—simply because there was no distance enough  to erase the memories engraved in Jongin’s head; the gardens and the library and the music room and everywhere else they were together, even if only once. He couldn’t enter none of these places and not have a memory making itself present in the back of his eyelids.

 

* * *

  
In the end, not even seven nights of the deepest sleep, courtesy of how spent Yixing left him after sex — having a lot of concubines has that effect on people, it seems; they don't tire easily — weren’t enough to clean the mess in his mind.

A mess which, by then, was so big that sweeping it under the rug didn't help any longer. If only, it made everything worse.

That being said, when Jongin found himself facing the red wood of Sehun’s door, the only thing in his mind was to prove to himself that he did _not_ feel any kind of attraction — at least he has a name for the feeling now, right? _Attraction_ — towards Sehun, nor anything that surpassed the walls of friendship. Which was a reach by itself, since they weren't friends yet.

(jongin was working on that before, but then, well. attraction)

He knocked two times, took a step back and waited. If one of the servants saw him like this, they would think he was crazy. After all, being a emperor meant that he could walk in wherever he wanted without asking. Not that many people would dare denying him, but still, if there was someone courageous — or just sassy — enough for that, it was Sehun.

Jongin didn't have to wait much before the door opened just enough for Sehun to peek half his head outside.

“Hi, Jongin,” he said. His hair was messy, and his voice sounded scratchy. Jongin’s sexual experience resumed itself in the almost three months since his wedding, but he knew well enough what that meant.

“Hi! Uhm, so… Are you busy? You look kind of busy.”

Sehun tried to say something and ended up letting a big yawn escape. He tried again. “I was sleeping.”

Oh.

“Do you want me to go? I can come back later! I can come back anytime.”

“No, it’s fine. I guess I overslept a bit.” His body disappeared for a second before he fully opened the door, allowing Jongin to see his full body, covered by a thin purple nightgown. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to talk with you.” Jongin fidgeted with his fingers, finally entering Sehun’s room after that invite in the gardens, weeks before. It wasn’t _lavish_ , but it wasn’t just a simple room either.

There wasn’t a single wall which wasn’t covered by a tapestry or numerous paintings. In the northeast corner, there was a two-seat sofa close by the window, so that Sehun could read while the wind brushed the heavy chinese heat away. A closed door west of them gave entrance to what Jongin could bet was a private bath, with a tub big enough for two. In the middle of the room, a big bed stood, covered by red and gold silken linings—a bed, Jongin could see, about the same size as the emperor’s one.

(maybe because in a way, sehun’s bed was as much as the emperor’s bed as jongin’s was)

Sehun sat in the sofa with his legs bent under him, feet dangling over the edge. A scene more beautiful than most of his paintings. “Well then, talk.”

 _Talk_ , he said, just like that, like it was some simple, fickle thing. Jongin didn't share that belief. Much on the contrary, if his sudden loss of words was anything to go by. Much on the contrary.

"That day, in the fountains..." he began, remembering how ugly Yifan's hands looked as he held Sehun, how _wrong_. Yixing's hands were smaller, more delicate—as were Jongin's. And they fit perfectly around Sehun's slim waist. "You were with commander Yifan, and well, you seemed really close. I was just wondering if you two had some kind of relationship, that's all."

Jongin looked down as he spoke—he was never good at lying, no matter how hard he was trying these last few months. The corner of Sehun's mouth crooked up, and if Jongin looked at him, he would see how his eyes shone with unconcealed mirth.

"Is that it? I would never know you were interested in this kinds of affairs, my prince. But very well. My relationship with Yifan is nothing but a long built friendship, since the day I've arrived here. Although I cannot say we didn’t have a little fun, for a while." He uncrossed his legs under him, stretching himself all over the sofa. The nightgown rode up, displaying his legs from the knee down. "After all, I'm the emperor's concubine, and it wouldn't look well if I had _relationships_ with the palace's personnel, much less with high-ranking officials of the army, don't you think?"

Jongin nodded. "Yes, of course! Not that I ever thought you had anything with him, I just... I had to make sure, you know. Being, well—being the leader of his harem, I guess, this is my responsibility. And I've been stepping up to my responsibilities lately. As should an emperor-consort."

"Of course you had. I never doubted that you only had the emperor's best interests at heart, Jongin." The smile went away, and Sehun's face returned to the same half bored half disdainful expression he wore most of time. "Now, was that the only thing you wished to discuss?"

Jongin felt like a plaything, a toy whose cords were linked to Sehun's fingers; because Sehun knew and Jongin knew that he knew and so did Sehun. It was confused and spiraling down down _down_ —uptight and twisted.

And Sehun, well—for the twinkle in his eyes, Jongin guessed that he was highly amused by everything.

(maybe being a concubine washed all your restraints away. that was not something jongin would ever know)

"Yes, it is." Sehun could act like he turned all the gears, but Jongin wouldn't let himself go down, not without a fight. He breathed deeply, hoping that the air filling his lungs would also give him the courage to walk away with his head held high. Instead, what blurted from his mouth was something else entirely. "It's just that... if you know how Zitao feels about Yifan, and I'm sure you know, then why would you do this? I thought you were friends with Zitao. He always has something nice to say about you."

There it was—tables turned.

"You're new in this palace, Jongin. I've been here since I was still a gangly teenager. I know Zitao. And I know he won't make a move on Yifan unless he is faced with an actual chance of losing him." The playful tone of his voice was gone. Sehun was serious now,, even if his face didn't show that out. "And Yifan wouldn't dare confessing his love to the emperor's youngest brother—he thinks Yixing would believe he wished to take advantage of Zitao, but that's not true. Yixing probably wants nothing more than to see them together and leave all this unresolved tension and back and forth flirting in the past."

Jongin got up and held his hands behind his back. See, that's where courage had taken him—asking stupid questions that did not concern him and that should be avoided. He needed to get away from there before he did something even more stupid, like telling Sehun he dreams at night about how the roof of his mouth tastes like, or how does the tip of his cock.

"Now, was that the only thing you wished to discuss, qiansui?"

 _No_ , Jongin wanted to say, but how could he? He was _married_ and pretty much in love with his husband, if the anticipation with which he waited for Yixing to come into their room every night was anything to go by. Did he wish to say something else to Sehun? Yes. Could he? No.

"That would be all."

Jongin turned his back on Sehun, walking as fast as he could without seeming like he was running from the room. He felt small and lost within himself, knowing what he should do wasn’t what he _wanted_ to do. He felt small and lost and pathetic standing there, with Sehun's eyes fixed on the back of his neck, those eyes who knew what Jongin wanted more than himself, the eyes of someone old and wise and devilish.

Four steps more and Jongin would be out of that room, and he would never come back, not anytime soon, not before this thing stopped and withered and died inside him, not before he could look at Sehun without feeling a low tug in his gut, not before he could look at something golden without imagining Sehun's hair spilled over his thighs, those small lips dangerously close to his—

“Don’t you think I deserve a question too?” Jongin hand was touching the doorknob already, almost there, held in place as soon as Sehun opened his mouth. “You came here, you roused me from my sleep, you asked me if I was fucking Yifan. I believe now it’s my turn, right?”

Jongin didn’t answer him, didn’t turn back, didn’t move. He heard the ruffling of fabric behind him, and then the sound of unclad feet touching the floor, closer and closer to him. “Tell me, qiansui, how was your wedding night?”

“What?”

“You heard me." Sehun came close enough that Jongin could feel his presence behind him, burning like the coals of a fire. He was left with no choice but to turn around and lock his eyes with Sehun's. "I took you for a virgin. You seemed awfully shy with your flushed cheeks, and I didn't believe they would send a _tainted_ boy for the emperor, whatever that means. So I told Yixing to be gentle with you, before you both went to bed—he has this caring aura around him, exhaling patience and kindness, but it's not always so. You might've found this out already."

 _Oh_ , Jongin though. All the while tried to figure out what Sehun had whispered on Yixing's ear that day, the thought of something like that never crossed his mind. More often than not, he would find himself thinking Sehun only wanted to assert his dominance, maybe jesting about Jongin, maybe inviting Yixing to his bed after the (unpleasant) deed was done. But not that, never that.

"I... Thank you, Sehun. I guess. I meant it."

"My pleasure. But you didn't answer me."

Jongin licked his lips. If he was smart, he would tell Sehun to mind his own business, to stay away from the emperor's personal life. None of his father's concubines had ever been so daring, so unabashed; none of them acted like they had any power in the palace. And Sehun walked like he had all of it.

Above that, truth was that Jongin wanted to tell him. It felt like something Sehun should know, even if, by all means, he shouldn't. Because it felt like something Sehun was part of, even if, by all means, he wasn't.

Wasn't he?

(jongin could think about a million reasons why he wasn't. none of them seemed strong enough)

"It was... He was kind." Jongin felt his cheeks go warm, and he hoped not to be blushing like the innocent virgin man he wasn't anymore. "He always made sure I was feeling good, and he was— Look, it was good, okay? Very good."

The smile gracing Sehun lips was a real one, this time, and Jongin had the most strange thought: that he wouldn't mind telling Sehun everything he wanted to hear, if that meant he would see him smiling that way. And not smiling at Yixing, or Yifan, or anyone else. Smiling at him.

"Did he eat you out yet?"

"... What?"

"I'm asking if he licked you! You know, down there."

"I— You only had one question and I already answered it."

"I know, I know." Sehun grabbed Jongin by his wrist and dragged him back to his bed. They both sat facing each other, Sehun reclined against his pillows, and Jongin tried to not gasp when Sehun stretched his legs over Jongin's lap. "But you answered me with the romantic details, and while they're nice and I'm happy your first time was good — the gods know mine wasn't — but I wanted to know the specifics. And you know why?"

"Uh, no." Jongin found out that the skin of Sehun's ankle was smooth, like the rest of him. Stroking over the bone helped him forget he was telling his emperor's concubine about how his first time having sex with the emperor — having sex _at all_ — was. It was also a good way to distract him, and keep his eyes away from where the silk of Sehun's nightgown pooled on his crotch, leaving his legs bare.

"It's because I'm _great_ with the specifics, being a concubine and all, and I can help you with them. You told me he was good for you, so now it's your time to be good for him. So, tell me: did he eat you out yet?"

"No. He offered, but he felt curious at thought of the emperor licking him _there_.

"Oh, come on! It's the best thing you'll ever feel, believe me. Let me see what else... Oh, has he blindfolded you? Or better, has he asked you to blindfold him?"

"Why would he do that? He wouldn't be able to see anything!"

"I believe that's the point of the whole thing. Look," Sehun sat down behind Jongin, legs threw over his sides and chest flushed against his back so that not ever a hair could pass between them. Firstly, Jongin felt a warm breath against his neck, and then Sehun's lips pressing down on it, sucking ever so slightly. "When I do this, is feels nice, doesn't it? But when I do _this..._ " One of his hands let go of Jongin's waist to cover his eyes. Jongin knew what would happen next, but that wasn't enough to suppress the shudder that ran through his spine when Sehun's lips connected with his neck again—the fact that he went harder, nibbling Jongin with his teeth and running his tongue over the marks didn't help.

It might have been his imagination, but Jongin could swear he felt something vaguely pressing against his backside. What wasn't his imagination, that he knew for sure, was how little it took for Jongin himself to start hardening, enough for a bulge to make itself visible under his robe.

He wasn't the only one to see that. Sehun's other hand also slipped away from his waist, a ghostly feeling over the jutting of his hips, descending to the beginning of his thigh, just shy of touching his crotch.

"Is this okay?"

It shouldn't be. There should be a _no_ sitting on the tip of Jongin's tongue, ready to go out, but instead—instead there was electricity running through his veins, there was a fire consuming the marrow of his bones.

This is wrong.

(is it?)

"I can't... We can't do this with Yixing," Jongin said, almost a whisper, and his lips ached from having formed those words, from saying what his mind tried so hard to dismiss. "He doesn't deserve this."

The weight over his eyes lifted, and Jongin was assaulted with light and icy blond hair in front of him. He missed the heat against his back (he missed the hand touching his thigh) but there was not enough time to focus on that, not with Sehun standing in front of him, a fondness within his eyes akin the one Yixing had when he and Jongin first met.

"I know he doesn't, and I would not— I could never think of doing something behind his back, much less something like this." Sehun traced Jongin's jaw with his finger, stopping when his thumb found the dip of his chin. "I'm not Yixing's concubine. I am the _emperor's_ concubine, which means I'm yours too, not just his. But you, Jongin, you're also his consort. You're his and so am I—and that means we are each other's."

Jongin should feel guilty, gods help him, but he couldn't. The lead bringing his chest down grew wings and flew away, quick as a hummingbird, when he took Sehun's words to his heart, even if they didn't make sense in that moment. There was just one more thing he needed to hear.

"Does he know?" he asked, and Sehun smiled again, beautiful and caring and _soft_ , for Jongin might not know (yet) but there was no one Sehun loved as much as Yixing.

"I've told him.”

"Good," Jongin nodded. “It’s okay, then. We— It’s okay.”

Sehun’s hand slowly undid the knot tying his nightgown together, careful to give Jongin time to change his mind, if he wanted. He didn't. Not before, and certainly not after the fabric pooled at Sehun’s feet, exposing his body to the warm afternoon air. Smooth skin and toned thighs, all hard edges softened by the beginning of curves, here and there, his slim waist giving way to the arch of his hips, the round contour of his ass.

“Last question: have you ever fucked someone?” Sehun lowered himself in Jongin’s lap, slow and beautiful and naked, and Jongin hands moved to hold him, fingers skimming by his sides as if he was a mirage or a dream. Feeling brave, he pressed his lips to the slope of Sehun’s collarbone, breathing in his scent—sweat and perfume and something else, spicy and tainting.

Jongin shook his head. He felt Sehun’s lips against his ear, and a whisper. “It's time someone teaches you, isn't it?”

Jongin hoped that the bite he left on the white column of Sehun’s neck was answer enough.

So Jongin let him. He let Sehun push him until he was laying flat on the bed, let him untie the robe that kept him clothed, let them be thrown to the other side of the room. Jongin let Sehun’s lips trace a path from his neck to belly button, let Sehun’s hands roam over his body, pinching his nipples, feeling his thighs, closing around his cock.

But it wasn't a one sided thing, a job, a _task._ This fire burning inside Jongin wasn't his only to care. So Sehun let him, too. Let him switch their positions so that Jongin was the one hovering, looking down at a flustered and breathless Sehun. Let him circle his entrance with oiled fingers before pushing one in, and then two and then three as Sehun moaned under him, buckling his hips as he rode Jongin’s hand, _teaching_ him. And let him settle between his legs, filling him up until Sehun’s back arched, until his lips couldn’t stop moving, muttering little whispers, encouraging Jongin to go faster, to go harder and _yes_ and _that’s it_ and _you’re so good, jongin, come on, please._

(and jongin was — always has been, always will be — eager to please)

It didn’t take long for Jongin’s orgasm to hit. He was _learning_ , and he might not be a virgin anymore, but there are different kinds of pleasure, and this was one he’d never felt before. And even if he had, there was something unique in having Sehun under him, gasping and trembling and breathless, eyes closed and mouth hanging open. Jongin emptied himself inside him, moaning when he felt Sehun’s walls tightening around his cock, the pressure perfect, and he let himself fall down beside Sehun on the bed, spent and sweaty and almost glowing with satisfaction.

A few seconds passed before Jongin could open his eyes again. His vision immediately focused on Sehun, who was looking back at him through half-lidded eyes. Both his hands were on Jongin, one caressing his arm, the other threading in between strands of sweaty hair. Jongin gave him a small smile, which was returned.

“Are you alright?” He asked, and Jongin nodded in lieu of a response. “Let’s teach you one more thing, shall we?”

Jongin didn’t have to look down to realize what that meant. Sehun’s cock was still hard against his belly, the head glistening with precum, untouched since the start. Jongin was too busy in that moment to ask Sehun if being a concubine meant he went under training to hold his pleasure for this long. Instead, he quickly arranged himself so that his face was right above Sehun’s crotch.

From that angle, he could see the slow, _distracting_ string of come trickling out of Sehun’s entrance and down to the sheets. He remembered what Sehun said earlier about being licked down there, but these thoughts had to be stored for later. Without further ado, Jongin closed his lips around the head of Sehun’s cock, working the rest of it with his hand — like Yixing did to him so many times — until Sehun’s thighs trembled under him, and with a strangled moan Sehun came into his mouth, leaving drops of white on Jongin’s lips.

Eventually, both their breathing slowed down. Sehun fit his head on the space between Jongin’s chin and shoulders, effectively snuggling against him—the hot air coming from outside didn’t seem so much of a problem in that moment. Jongin’s hand was playing with the hairs on Sehun’s nape, softly, slowly, careful of a more brusque movement as if it might break them apart.

He felt Sehun’s lips moving against his neck before his brain processed the words. “Was it good for you? I mean, did you today’s _lesson_?”

Jongin laughed against his hair. “Yeah, I did.”

“That’s good. There’s still a lot of things you need to know, but don’t worry—we’ll have time to cover all them and more.”

“Yeah,” Jongin repeated. “We will.”

The sheets were starting to get sticky under him, and so was his body, but Jongin didn’t mind. Not when Sehun’s breath evened out, his chest rising up and down lazily in his sleep—Jongin couldn’t wake him up, not even if he wanted to. And he didn’t.

He felt happy in a unsafe, dangerous kind of way. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sehun’s words, because he did, and if Sehun said he’d told Yixing about the things he wanted to do with Jongin, it was because _he had._ But it was different hearing that from Sehun and hearing that directly from Yixing. Jongin’s fear was that it would be too different, the same but not the same, parallel lines that went to infinity without touching each other.

He couldn't lose Sehun, not now that he had him. But he couldn't lose Yixing either, not after he learned to love him in another country, surrounded by unknown people. Jongin thought himself greedy and selfish, but he couldn't lose any of them.

Sehun moved in his sleep, tightening his arm around Jongin’s waist. Jongin kissed the top of his head and buried his nose between blond hair. He couldn't lose him.

He would talk with Yixing. Sehun was right—he was the _emperor's_ concubine, and Jongin, although the consort, could also be considered an emperor. And if Yixing thought he could be with both Sehun and Jongin, he would surely understand Jongin’s side. If both Jongin and Sehun were Yixing’s, then why couldn't they be each other's?

He would talk with Yixing later. When Sehun’s legs weren't tangled with his own ones, when his mind was not a tired and incoherent mess, when the low sound of Sehun’s breathing wasn't lulling him to sleep. _Not now,_ he vowed to himself. _But later._

 

* * *

 

As expected, everything looked way easier in Jongin’s head.

He lost count of how many hours he spent pacing his room back and forth, trying to think of something intelligent to say when Yixing came back from his duties, just to forget everything the minute his husband walked into the room, still with the crown resting over his head. The words flew off his mouth, every time, and he put all the thoughts of Sehun on the back of his mind as he moved to bed, sitting behind Yixing to massage the tense spots on his neck and shoulders, and pepper them with kisses afterwards.

It was a strange feeling. Jongin knew, deep down, he was being stupid. He knew Yixing enough to know that he would find a way to make him happy, even if it was against what the court expected of him. And to be honest, Jongin didn’t think the court would be against him having someone else in his bed, not if Yixing permitted it. It wasn’t like he and Sehun could have a child.

And yes, Yixing could have any number of concubines he wanted because _he_ was the emperor, and that meant he could do pretty much anything, but Jongin was an emperor too. Emperor-consort. And that wasn’t an empty title.

Maybe if they knew Jongin was only _learning_ from Sehun, they would relent. But then, Jongin didn’t want to share the true nature of their relationship. He didn’t feel like he was learning anything, that afternoon. Honestly, he couldn’t quite well describe what he felt, not with words.

Still, the worst of it was that Jongin hadn't talked with Sehun since they slept together. He shamelessly ran from the other man whenever they saw each other in the hallways and dining rooms, claiming to have some meeting to attend or some nobles to talk sense into—which wasn't a lie, per se. He _did_ have to please a ridiculous number of rich people, to eat with them and chat with them to show how nice and how proper he was, to prove it was a good idea bringing a prince from Goryeo to the heart of China. Even so, the main reason for his avoidance, of course, wasn't that. He knew, now, that he wouldn't be able to talk with Sehun without his mind wandering to the softness of his lips, almost woman-like, so contrasting with the sharp edges of his shoulders, so wide under Jongin's exploring hands.

And he knew that he couldn't do that with Sehun again, not before he talked with Yixing and got him to understand the whole situation. Which wasn’t complicated in reality, but surely seemed like in his head. It all looked like a huge ball of… confusion, really.

It was like this that Jongin waited for Yixing, sitting at the edge of their bed and constantly repeating to himself that this time wasn’t going to be like the other ones. That day, he would _talk_ , even if he had to stutter through more than half of his words. That day, Yixing was going to know — by his mouth, before he discovered by someone else. The palace’s walls were full of ears, as Luhan liked to say.

Jongin plastered a smile on his face as he heard the door opening. “Hello, husband,” he said, hoping Yixing wouldn't be able to notice the anxious undertone on his voice. “Tough day again?”

“You wouldn't believe how nobles can be petty. Always fighting about the smallest piece of land. And they always find a way to make _me_ having to solve their conflicts, as if I didn't have anything better to do—like taking care of the empire's border security and all sorts of other relevant matters.” Yixing sighed. He tended to do that a lot, those days. “But enough about my day. It was boring like yesterday, and tomorrow will be just the same. What about you?”

“Oh, it was normal. Fine.” Jongin said, pursing his lips in a way that screamed _not fine_. “Luhan was helping me get a handle on what the nobles want. And then I took some time to rest in the garden—not that I was tired. I just wanted to stay somewhere quiet and think about… things.”

Yixing perked up at that, raising his head from where he previously laid it at Jongin’s lap. “What things?”

“Oh, you know. _Things_.”

“No, I don’t think I know.” Yixing said, eyebrows raised as if he couldn’t understand what was the matter with Jongin. “Why are you talking like this? Is there something wrong? Did someone bother you?”

“Of course not! I told you, all your servants are nice to me. And the nobles, well. It wasn’t _that_ different in Goryeo. Nobles are always going to be nobles, no matter from where they come from.”

“What’s the problem then?”

“There’s no _problem_ ,” Jongin said, gathering up courage to look into Yixing’s eyes. There was no point in running anymore, unless he wished to make himself crazy. “There’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t want you to react badly, but I’m afraid you will.”

Yixing smiles at that, and oh how Jongin wanted that gesture to be enough to calm down his heart. He could feel the muscle thumping against his ribcage, trying to break free and spill everything, every one of his secret feelings and secret words.

“I doubt that,” he says. His voice is calming, as if he was speaking to a child afraid of the dark. “And we can’t find out until you say it. But I promise you that I won’t say or do anything hurtful to you, even if I want it.”

_Well, that’s something, right?_

Jongin nods and fiddles with his fingers a bit before opening his mouth. “It’s about Sehun. Your concubine.”

Apart from a slight raise of his left eyebrow, Yixing remains expressionless. “What about him?”

“It’s just that him… That _we_ … I don’t know how to say it. I can’t do it.”

Jongin could feel his face getting redder by the minute, but thankfully his hands weren’t shaking—not yet. He wouldn’t know how where to hide himself if they were.

He closed his eyes when he felt Yixing’s forehead touching his, and the intimate contact reminded him how intimate he was with someone else, someone whose name he couldn’t even say anymore without feeling his tongue heavy with guilt.

“You can say it, Jongin. Nothing is going to happen.”

“I know, but it’s hard.” Jongin breathed deeply, trying to organize his thoughts again. “Sehun and I, we… You’d think I have some problem with him because, well, he’s your concubine, but it’s quite the opposite. I like Sehun—he’s funny and charming and he doesn’t treat me like I’m better than him. He’s well-mannered, but in the same way he would be to anyone else. I _like_ him.”

Yixing didn’t say anything. He kept his gaze fixed on Jongin’s eyes, encouraging him to continue, because he knew that wasn’t the end of it. Jongin wouldn’t be so utterly confused about something simple as that, would he?

“And then, well. He asked me to go to his bedroom one day, if we wanted to talk, and I really needed to talk with him, because I was feeling—it doesn’t matter. We talked, but after… He said he was a concubine, _your_ concubine, after all, which meant he could teach me a thing or two about pleasing you. And I accepted because I know you had a lot of people before me, but you were my first, which makes me feel pretty inexperienced, and I _like_ Sehun, so. We had sex.” Jongin didn’t expect how lighter he would feel after saying that, even before Yixing had a chance to answer. The pressure was still there, in the back of his mind, but whatever the outcome, he could deal with that later. “Sehun and I had sex. And I liked it. _And_ he said there were still a lot of things for me to learn, so I would like to do it again. But I felt like I needed to tell you everything beforehand, because you’re my husband and I think I love you, Yixing. I don’t want to end up hurting you.”

“Oh, Jongin.” Yixing wound up both his arms over Jongin’s waist, enveloping him in a hug that left their chests fully pressed against each other. “My sweet, beautiful Jongin. My husband. My prince.” He kissed his forehead, his temple, the tip of his nose. “I don’t think you could hurt me even if you wanted to.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course, darling. How could I condemn you when I fell for Sehun’s charms myself? I know very well how alluring he can be, when he wants to.” Yixing ran his hands through Jongin’s hair, reassuring him. “He's just irresistible, that one.”

 _Ain't I?_ Sehun would say if he were there. _The most beautiful thing you've ever laid your eyes upon. Tell me, Jongin. Tell me._

“The important thing is that you love me, and I love you. And, as long as we are open to each other, it doesn’t trouble me that you love someone else. Even more if it’s Sehun.” He kept on saying. “You have my trust, Jongin. As I hope to have yours.”

Jongin smiled, brushing his lips lightly against Yixing’s. He couldn’t tell why he was so scared of being honest with his husband.  He really made a mess of his head for nothing, didn’t he?

“You have my trust since the first day. That should be the lesser of your worries.” He snuggled against Yixing’s neck, letting the smell of him fills his nostrils. Something in Yixing’s speech bothered him, though. “But… I don’t _love_ him. We’re just—he’s just teaching me. It’s only sex.”

“Oh,” Yixing said. His voice seemed a little off, but Jongin blamed the whole reveal, and not exactly that single piece of information. “Are you sure?”

“... Yes. Why are you asking me?”

“It’s nothing. It just seemed to me, by the way you talked about him, that you might feel something more than just physical attraction.”

“Well, it isn’t.” Jongin said. He sounded a hundred percent sure, and he felt that way too. Maybe not a _hundred_ percent; maybe eighty. Or seventy. Sure enough, by his standards.

“We’re settled, then? Your little heart is beating fine now?” Yixing asked, chuckling. Jongin could hear that sound for days on end without tiring.

“It is.” And it was, truly. At least for now. “Oh, the servants brought the water for your bath just before you came; it’s still warm, I believe. Do you wanna bathe?”

“Only if you come with me.”

 _Silly emperor_ , Jongin thought. _I love you so much I would pluck the stars from the sky and lay them at your lap, if only I could._

And after, when Yixing was sleeping soundly at his side and the muscles of his thighs ached from the stretch, Jongin quietly put on a robe to cover his naked body and slipped out of the room.

He had to tell Sehun.

 

* * *

 

**[interlude]**

two,

(“maybe we’ve given to much credit to him,” yixing said as soon as he opened the door to sehun’s rooms. he didn’t need to knock first, or to check if sehun was there at the moment—he knew sehun would be expecting this conversation, just as he was.

“oh, that’s what you think? what an understatement.” sehun was lying face first in the bed, every bit the petulant child he was when he and yixing first met in the court. “he couldn’t see my ass even if i sat at his face.”

yixing let the laughter spill from his lips, partially because sehun was right. jongin was proving to be the most dense person he ever met. and partially because sehun had a great ass, and the mention of him sitting on someone’s face made something wake up in his loins.

he unlaced his robe before sitting on the bed, resting his hand on the swell of sehun’s calf. “it was your idea, you know, to not say anything directly to him.”

“and i still stand by it,” sehun said, voice muffled by the matress. “we can’t just _invite_ him into a relationship, it’ll sound like an order. and he loves you, so i’m afraid he might accept just because he wouldn’t want to let you down.”

“you’re underestimating him. i don’t think he would agree to something he doesn’t want just because he likes me.”

sehun finally turned his face to look at him. “he _loves_ you. and even if he wouldn’t, you can’t deny that he would definitely feel threatened by the proposal. what’s the problem in letting him notice things at his own time, after all?”

“the problem _,_ ” yixing repeated through gritted teeth. “is that he _doesn’t_ notice.”

“can you believe he came here the other night? i was almost asleep.” sehun turned his body so that he was lying on his side, legs stretched over yixing’s lap. “he was so happy because he talked to you about us fucking and you weren’t mad at him or anything. and i thought he would like, kiss me or something, and say he liked me a lot or something like that, but he said that it was amazing that he could continue _learning how to please you_ and i didn’t knew what to say. i mean, i only told him i was teaching him at the beginning so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about you.”

yixing licked his lips and looked at sehun with his better _i warned you_ look.

“considering this,” sehun said. “maybe it’s time for a more straightforward approach.”

yixing thought a few straightforward approaches, knowing sehun would dismiss all of them as soon as he heard. “i still think the best thing would be talking to him. have you ever tried it? it’s how adults work out their problems.”

“ _i was thinking_ ,” sehun went on, as if he hadn’t heard yixing. “we could spend more time together with him. and i mean all three of us, together. it’ll familiarize him with you and me as a couple, and hopefully make him see he would be a welcome addition to our relationship. we can always leave some vague comment in the air for him to pick up.”

yixing sighed before taking sehun’s legs off his lap so that he could lay at his side. “no talking, then?”

“just let me do this, okay? if still he can’t see it, then we’ll talk to him.”

“okay, sehun. i love you, and you know that, but i also love him. don’t torture the boy over something that could be solved easily.”

“i know.” he moved closer, tucking yixing’s head against his shoulder. “i promise you i won’t.”

yixing didn’t need to tell sehun he trusted in whatever he wanted to do. sehun knew that already.)

 

* * *

 

They were in the gardens once more, where it quickly became Sehun and Jongin’s favorite place to talk and rest while Yixing performed his royal obligations. This time, however, the three of them were together, relaxing in the most secluded section of the gardens—in the same place Jongin and Sehun had talked for the first time. Yixing sat on a bench — _are you going to wash the grass stains from my clothes? well then_ — while the other two sat on the ground, close to his feet.

Jongin let his cheek rest against Yixing’s knee, sighing when he felt his husband slender fingers threading through his hair. Sehun had his head down, intently reading the book on his lap.

Like this, they looked almost like something from a children’s story, an _happily ever after_ , except that these always had picture a big family with smiles on their faces, not a couple and their — _their_ — concubine. But Jongin chose to ignore that.

He doubted anyone in those stories was as happy and peaceful as he was in that moment. There wasn’t even a need to do anything—he could spend the whole day like that, eyes closed, soaking in the sounds of the birds, in the ruffle of Sehun turning page after page of his book, in the low humming of a song that came deep from Yixing’s throat.

Jongin thought of how many days and nights Yixing and Sehun spent like that, hiding away from the duties and responsibilities of their position, just relaxing while the sun beat down on their clothed backs. He thinks about Yixing and Sehun before he came, the life they had before he wedged himself in the picture.

“Hey, Sehun,” he said, waiting before Sehun looked at him to continue. “How did you— I mean, you’re from Goryeo like me, so I was wondering how you came to live here? Not only in China, but in the imperial palace, being the emperor’s favorite concubine.”

Sehun sighed and closed the book, turning his eyes away from Jongin. Above him, he felt Yixing’s hand suddenly stop the motions on his hair.

“Well,” the emperor said. “It’s just kind of a long story, Jongin.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Yixing.” Sehun’s fingers tapped the cover of the book, trying to find the best place to start. “It’s about time he knows.”

“You don’t have to! If it makes you uncomfortable, I mean. I just asked out of curiosity.”

Sehun let out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, it’s really okay. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He let his back rest against the bench and looked at the sky. “What do you know about the villages in the northern border of Goryeo?”

Jongin tried his best to remember the things his father had told him, but truth was the never paid much attention to the politics classes, much more interested in fencing and music. “Close to nothing, to be honest. The only thing I remember is that my father constantly had to send more soldiers to fight against the Liao invaders.”

“We used to sleep waiting for the day when the Liao would send a force strong enough to step over us for once and all. It was… terrifying, at worst. At best, we would forget about them until the fire started in someone’s house, and when we would look around they were already filling the village with their swords, kicking down the doors and dragging women and children from their homes. Then, they would be taken to their empire and turned into slaves.”

Jongin already had an idea on how that had ended for Sehun, but he chose to be quiet for once, his gaze fixed on Sehun’s profile—how his mouth moved as he formed the words, and how his eyes seemed to get a more melancholic gleam with each new memory he revealed.

“They took my older sister when I was still young enough to pass unnoticed to then, but that didn’t last long. I was far from a man made when they came from me. I knew they would, someday. My hair made me quite the precious thing, in their eyes.” At that, Sehun brought a lock of hair in front of his eyes, as if he were tired of it. His hair, which he knew Yixing and Jongin loved deeply. As did everyone in the court—and as did the Liao invaders. “It was no wonder when a prominent noble decided to bought me, and then it wasn’t long before their emperor saw me in the palace on a visit and decided I should be his concubine.”

“He was the most wicked thing ever, always reminding me how his people took me away from my home. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t think about killing him while his slept, but I knew they would execute me, and it scared me to think of how. I despised him, but it was preferable to being fed to the dogs. So I stayed, and I went on, until _someone_ came into Liao territory for a diplomatic visit and brought me on his way back to China.”

“You know,” Yixing said, as he finally made his appearance in the story. “That is a very modest way of telling I whisked you away from right under that old man’s nose and almost declared a war against the Liao.”

“You did _what_?” Jongin asked, raising his head.

“That may sound surprising, but when you cover Sehun’s hair with a cloth, he isn’t _that_ outstanding.”

Sehun gasped. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this.”

“If you were, you would probably still be there, so take that as a good thing.”

“But it’s _not._ ”

“You know,” Jongin raised his voice, which put an end to their bickering. “If someone else told me a story like that, I would think they’d just read it in a book somewhere. I wouldn’t believe it.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Yixing asked him. “Sehun really is an unbelievable minx.”

“Oh, stop it already.” Sehun let his book fall on the floor, and rose up to the bench, laying belly down on Yixing’s open legs. Like that, he’s so close to Jongin their noses touched with the slightest movement of their breath. “So, is your curiosity sated, qiansui?”

Jongin rolled his eyes at the honorific. “It is. And Sehun? I think you’re the bravest person I know.”

“Oh, my little emperor, you flatter me.” His lips touched Jongin’s softly for a second. “It’s clear Yixing is the hero on this story, not me.”

“I disagree.” Yixing said. “And where’s my kiss?”

“You silly thing.” Sehun sat himself on Yixing’s lap to give him a peck on the lips. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

Jongin couldn’t help but bursting in laughter, and the other two followed soon after. Yixing didn’t even seemed surprised by the backtalk, and Sehun, for how he said Yixing was his hero, didn’t care at all about how he should address the ruling emperor of China.

Soon he was on the bench too, head resting against Yixing’s shoulder, Sehun’s hands mapping the lines of his face. He, a hero, and a prince fred from the highest tower—Jongin wondered for how long he could stay between them, wedged into their story, a sudden intruder that came there to make politics, and not love. How much longer until Sehun and Yixing decided they were better of like before, without him and this arranged marriage.

Jongin wondered and wondered, much after they all left the garden, after night fell and Yixing curled at his side to sleep. He wondered and wondered, dreading the moment when a answer would appear in his mind and pop off his crystal bubble into a million — small and ugly and useless — drops of water and soap.

 

* * *

Jongin could lie to himself about a multitude of things. He could pretend he didn’t miss his home, the verdant gardens of Goryeo and the pools in which he, Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo spent whole afternoons splashing water against each other, until the skin of their fingers was wrinkled like they were old men. He could pretend he didn’t miss the feeling of being the youngest prince in his own kingdom, where his biggest concern was to appear presentable in front of other nobles and arrive at dinner on time.

He could _not_ pretend it was a surprise when Sehun came knocking in the door of his bedroom in a early morning, soon after the servants had came to take away the remains of his breakfast. He could not pretend he wasn’t preparing himself for that, that he hadn’t lay awake at night thinking about what to say. He just thought he would have a little more time with them, before it all came to an end.

“Jongin, you’re awake,” Sehun said, when he certified himself there wasn’t anyone close to hear them. “Would you mind accompanying me somewhere?”

Jongin was tempted to protest, to tell him no, because that was a conversation better reserved to the privacy of his rooms, where no one could see him breaking down afterwards. Instead, he answered “Of course not. I’ll just change into something more appropriate.”

He followed Sehun through hallways that he now knew like the back of his hand — he missed Goryeo, but maybe finally, after almost an year, China was beginning to feel also like a home — without asking to where Sehun wanted to take him, or even uttering a single word. Jongin discovered he wasn’t scared anymore, not after so much time spent predicting this. He enjoyed the last minutes he had, watching as Sehun walked in front of him like he was more a part of the palace than Jongin could ever hope to be.

They were in the gardens—again. It was like every important moment of Jongin’s life since he came had to happen in the gardens. This, however, was not the section they were used to lay down and relax. It is a less private one, and Jongin spotted at least three children playing hide and seek between the statues. Sehun walked the three steps to the gazebo in front of them, and sat himself on the floor, gesturing Jongin to do the same.

Between them was a board from a game Jongin was coming to know quite well. “I believe Yixing already introduced you to Go, didn’t he?” Sehun asked.

“Yes. He’s still teaching me the strategy.” Jongin sat down while Sehun picked up the stones, putting the black ones in Jongin’s side of the board. “I can’t say that I’m a good player, not yet.”

“There will be a lot of time to learn.” He finished handing out the pieces, and both of them cleared the board so Jongin could make his first move.

The main goal in Go was to surround the adversary stones with yours, and thus taking them out of the game. It didn’t seemed hard until you started playing and discovered the person you were playing against was way better than you. By now, Jongin was already used to that. He was given the black stones because he was the beginner, and therefore, could make the first move.

They set into a quiet rhythm after that. The first step to win was setting your stones in strategic places around the board, creating points where a player could defend more easily. Sehun hummed whenever Jongin made a good move, and tsked everytime he made a bad one. Jongin wasn’t believing that Sehun brought him there just so they could play, but the silence was a peaceful one, and the gazebo provided them shadow from the scalding sun where they still could feel the soft breeze that ran through the gardens. Jongin wasn’t about to end that because he couldn’t wait an hour or two.

Half an hour later and Sehun already had quite a sizable quantity of black stones close to his knee, while Jongin had not managed to capture more than ten. “You know that if you spend too much time strengthening a position, I’m just gonna take up the rest of the board, right?” Sehun said, analyzing Jongin’s previous moves.

“Yes. I also know that if I _don’t_ strengthen these positions, you’ll end up capturing the rest of my stones.” Jongin answered him, at loss about how to proceed. “And that pile of yours is already big enough.”

Sehun chuckled at that. “That is true. You’re getting better at it, though. The first time we played I thought you were hopeless.”

“You could say that I am a bit slow to learn. Once I do, however, I’m going to beat you with a flick of my hand.” He placed one of his stones in a place where it closed Sehun’s five-stone chain, and smiled triumphantly as he put those aside. “That didn’t sound like me _at all_.”

“It didn’t.” Jongin noticed the change of tone instantaneously—where before Sehun was playful, now his voice was devoid of mirth. His hands were crossed over his lap, blocked from Jongin’s vision by the board, in a way he could not see how Sehun fidgeted with his fingers. “You know that I didn’t bring you here just for this, don’t you?”

 _This is it_ , Jongin thought, pursing his lips. “I’ve figured it, yes.”

“Did you also figure out why?”

“I believe—” Jongin began, but stopped when he felt something clogging on his throat. He couldn’t cry, not now, when Sehun hadn’t even said anything. “I believe you want to end our… agreement, or whatever it was. You don’t need to worry about that. I won’t bother you nor Yixing any longer. I’ll only act like his husband when it’s necessary for him to— to keep appearances. But I won’t come between you and him, not anymore.”

His eyes were fixed on the stones while he talked, to much of a craven to look at Sehun’s face. He waited for a response — a confirmation —, holding his robes so hard his knuckles started to turn white, but none came.

When Jongin finally raised his head, Sehun was looking at him like he couldn’t believe in what he was seeing.

“Are you— Jongin,” he said, very slowly. “Jongin, are you kidding with me?”

“Of course not! Why would I? Do you think it makes me happy, acknowledging this?”

Sehun shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve _got to be_ kidding me. Because if you aren’t— How did you even reached that conclusion? Do we look like we want you out of your, like you said, _agreement_?”

“Not you two, specifically. It’s just that, well, you had this going way before I came into the picture, and to be quite honest, you have an _history_ together, Sehun. Yixing saved you. He _wanted_ you. Whereas I was just… Some name written with ink in a letter sent long ago, and from which he couldn’t run, even if he wanted to.”

“Is this how you think of yourself? Like a chain around Yixing’s ankle?”

_Now that you said it, maybe._

He kept silent, and Sehun took that as an invitation to continue. “Jongin, what I wanted to tell you was the opposite of everything you just said.” He raised his hand when Jongin opened his mouth, which was enough grounds for any other emperor to order him beaten at his feet. Sehun never cared about this things, or maybe he just knew no one would lay a finger on him. “Yixing wanted to tell you this long before, but I thought I would be better if you figured out things by yourself. But seeing as your mind came up with the worst setting possible, I can’t drag this out any longer.”

Sehun sighed and splayed his hands over the board, making some of the stones fall to the floor with a clatter. It was not like they were going to resume playing, anyway. “I was scared, when you came. Yes, me and Yixing have a lot of history between us, but you were always destined to marry him, while I was just a concubine he saved from the enemy empire. I thought you were going to hate me, want me gone, and that Yixing would eventually bend around your will. But you didn’t—instead you talked to me like I was someone you wanted to be around. And as Yixing fell in love with you, I couldn’t help but do the same.”

Jongin didn’t even try to interrupt him this time. He was everywhere and nowhere at all, his mind swimming, surrounded by water, freezing cold and electric blue. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t _breathe_.

“So we both sat to talk things down, and we decided that we wanted you to be a part of our relationship. A part of us. As long as you would take us, of course. Yixing wanted to talk all this down with you, but I thought it would be better if we showed you, because I was scared you might’ve feel pressured into it if we’d just asked bluntly. Maybe we should have done that. I don’t know. But, you see, the thing is that we want you, Jongin. We want you for the long run. And yes, I’m well aware that Yixing should be here to say this too, but you know how his duties are always getting the upper hand of him. What I wanted to ask of you was: do you want this? Do you want to be a part of us?”

Jongin felt like he could scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Maybe all three—maybe at the same time. He was drowning in sea water, he was soaring the skies and yes, he was crying. Just a bit. It was hard not to, not when he felt like his heart could burst at any moment, letting water flood his body from the inside until it was — he was — spilling everywhere, overflowing blue.

“Yes, I want it. I want if so much, Sehun. So much.” He tried to keep his voice still, but there was no way he could prevent it from cracking in the end of his sentence. “I was so scared. I don’t think I’ve wanted anything as much as this.”

Jongin raised his hands to his eyes to clean the few tears that fell. Sehun was by his side in a second, his fingers around Jongin’s wrists, pulling them down so he could look him in the eyes.

“There was never anything to be scared about, silly.” He kissed Jongin’s wet cheeks, traced his cheekbones with his thumbs. “I always thought we were obvious about how much we love you, but I guess we’ll have to show it some more. Can’t say the nobles will like it, but it isn’t like I give a damn about them.”

“I love you too. Both of you,” he said, lip trembling. Sehun couldn't resist getting closer until their mouths touched, and Jongin almost heard his worries being locked down somewhere far away from there, somewhere where Sehun’s mouth didn't taste like the cherries he ate everyday for breakfast and the stones pressed over by his hand didn’t cause him any pain; somewhere where one of his deepest wishes hadn’t come true.

Sehun kissed him until they were both breathless, and then he kissed him some more, until their lips were red and puffy. “I had an idea,” he said, with the beginning of a smile gracing his face. “Yixing must be retiring for lunch soon. We should tell one of the servants to warn him we’re waiting in his room—preferably without clothes, though this part should remain a secret.”

“You’re devious, do you know that?”

“Oh, my dear.” Sehun got up, brushing dust out his clothes, and offered a hand to help Jongin up. “That’s one of my best qualities.”

 

* * *

 

It was Jongin’s first official visit as the emperor-consort of China, and he was sure he had never been more bored. It was difficult not to be, when all their host wanted to talk about was the quality of his last crops.

Jongin might well have bowed in thanks when it was time for them to retire, but he held himself straight by Yixing’s side and left the hall with a smile he practiced weeks before—only to let it fall as they entered the room.

“That was the worst conversation _ever_ ,” Jongin said, plopping face first into the bed. “And I couldn’t even pretend I wasn’t interested about it. I mean, _the crops_. Who doesn’t want to talk about crops all day? I surely do.”

“Now you’re just being whiny.” Yixing put his crown on the center table and undid the knots off his robe, letting it hang loose on his body. “Or you’re so used to talking with interesting people — like me — you can’t stand a boring but important noble for half a day.”

“It would be easier if Sehun could sit with us.”

“I know.” Yixing sighed. “But I can’t ask him to sit at us in the high table without slighting someone. We aren’t home.”

“Well, this sucks.”

“That’s… a good way of putting it.” Jongin felt a hand running up his calf before the mattress dipped down with Yixing’s weight. “It’s just for a few days, and then we’ll be back home.”

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier. Jongin sighed and moved around until his head was resting in the pillow, and Yixing made the same before wrapping his arms around Jongin’s waist. That way, he could pretend he didn’t miss the warmth of another body pressed at his side; a taller, wide-shouldered one, whose cold feet were constantly pressed at Jongin’s shins.

Both of them were almost asleep when a soft knocking made itself sound from the other side of the door. Jongin was on his feet in a instant, and he forgot their _no loud noises_ rule when he wrenched the door open was fast as he could.

Sehun’s index pressed into his lips reminded him in a instant.

“You came!” he whispered, pulling the other inside by the arm. He closed the door — slower, this time — before wrapping his arms around him. “Oh, I missed you _so much_. I wish you could’ve been at the feast with me, but then, I wouldn’t wish the things I had to hear on anyone.”

“I’ve seen enough nobles trying to Yixing’s boots by now that I know how _boring_ it is.” He walked straight into the bed, plopping straight on the middle, where Yixing could wrap his now empty arms around him—because Yixing gave the best cuddles. “But it’s flattering to know you think of me in your darkest hours.”

Jongin huffed. Yixing raised his head to whisper something in Sehun’s ear and they both laughed until Jongin came to join them on the bed and waited.

And waited.

“I know you were laughing about me, idiots.”

“Oh, come on darling.” Yixing stretched his arm over Sehun so that he could pinch Jongin’s cheek. “It was nothing. Just Sehun being his usual evil self.”

Jongin couldn’t see with the candles out, but he knew Sehun was smiling. “I’m not going to deny that.”

He smiled too, and rolled his body so that he was laying on top of Sehun. The quiet _oof!_ under him did not go unheard. “You know what, Yixing? I don’t care. I missed this idiot all day; I can put up with a little evilness.”

“That’s good,” Sehun said, a bit breathless—and Jongin couldn’t wish away the effect that had on him. “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon. I was just wondering what we will tell the servants when they come tomorrow morning and see this.”

“We don’t have to tell them anything,” Yixing said. “I’m the emperor, I do what I want.”

“Unexpected. But,” Sehun raised his finger like a philosopher about to say some amazing insight. “I liked it. Jongin?”

“Me too.”

“That’s settled then. I guess there’ll be a new guest at the highest table tomorrow,” Sehun said, cheered by Jongin. Yixing rolled his eyes at them, but he couldn’t help but smile along.

“Well then, you all should rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.” Yixing snuggled against Sehun’s neck and draped his hand over Jongin’s weight. “I can’t wait for it.”

“Me neither,” Jongin and Sehun both said, together. They went to sleep like that, a tangled mess of limbs, too warm and uncomfortable for anyone else, but perfect in their eyes.

And tomorrow rose on the horizon, awaiting them.


End file.
